


Company

by maximum_overboner



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Asphyxiation, Character Study, Darkfic, Depictions of Abuse, F/M, Gaster Fucks His Way Across The Underground, Gruesome content, Lite horror, M/M, Other, dark smut, dubcon, unsafe sexual practices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2018-08-23 08:38:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8321191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maximum_overboner/pseuds/maximum_overboner
Summary: Lonely men desire company, be it intimate, sexual, or purely platonic, and those that have the means to satisfy that urge do so. And one lonely man in particular has the means to satisfy it again, and again, and again, no matter how grim his urges. In which Gaster has a lot of issues.





	

**Author's Note:**

> another grim gaster-fic! because i did not have enough of those, apparently. now, as a disclaimer, i want to point out that there’s quite a bit of unpleasant content, AND to say that gasters attitude towards sex workers is not one i share. it’s written from his point of view. cant stress that enough. anyway, hope you like it!

Lonely men desire company. It’s not something that can be ignored, it’s not something that can be put off for later; it’s a hunger pang that stretches for months, announcing itself through absence, and it’s not something that can be denied, either, not for long. It’s the lingering touch on your shoulder, and it’s having your face cupped while you make love. It’s the knowledge that you can let go in the presence of another person, for just a moment. Let the reigns slip a little, and know that things won’t go careening away from you. Lonely men desire company, be it intimate, sexual, or purely platonic, and those that have the means to satisfy the urge do so.

Gaster had nothing but means; means with no substance. Money, and power, heaps of it, and its trappings. People would fall over themselves to be with him, and he would enjoy being doted on, and then they would leave just as quickly when the glamour wore off, and they were left with him. He was abrasive. He was acerbic. He was bad company. He knew this. It still stung. And those that stayed despite that fact, he would cast out anyway, because it meant that they wanted to be with him, and that fact presented a character flaw in them that could not be overcome. You don’t spend time with Gaster. Not even Gaster spends time with Gaster. And so he was forced to think, to himself, to only himself. Though there were things to throw himself into; his work, which he adored, where he could stop thinking and start comprehending, and his thousands of books, there came a point where he was left alone, as he always was, as the rest of the world slept. He loomed. Solitary. As expected.

Lonely men purchase company. Or the closest approximation of it that they can get. A warm body for a night is almost like being held, and it’s hard to mull when you’re swamped in afterglow, so spent you can barely keep your eyes open as someone obligated to stay does so. And when you have the benefit of payment, you can ask favours you would never ask of someone that you would see again.

Gaster would visit the same place, a well furnished residence, filled with women with easy to snap chemises, and less commonly, men willing to sell their services in kind. Every time he would request someone different, until he had exhausted the willing, and then would move on to a different group to pluck from. To a different part of the Capital. As quickly as the Guard would dismantle the brothels, two would spring up in their place. It was a fact of life. People liked sex. Monsters were willing to buy, and as long as that were the case, Monsters would always be willing to sell. In an entirely enclosed space, like the vast prison that was the Underground, new, and fresh, one year old, there were only so many things to do. Lit with lanterns, he would venture.

Gaster liked his men to be stout; short and heavy-set, and his women to be lean; lithe and sprawling. They would be shown to the front room, where he would sit down and discuss his wants, or to be more specific, his needs. He would lay out his preferences to them, and leave the door open for those that wanted to leave at once, the majority, who would take one look at his request and turn on their heels, a motion he couldn’t begrudge. Those that stayed received quite the tip.

He would hand over a note.

‘Scream like I am killing you.’

And they would go. But her, the first in a month; thin, like a stalk, with too many eyes, surveyed it warily.

“I-I will raise my fee.”

That would be fine. If he paid enough, she might let him wring her squamous neck, until his hands ached and he came, hard and deep in someone powerless. Until he could feel the dull thud of her soul in her neck as her eyes watered, before sinking away entirely. How much would it cost for her to be willing to be strangled to death as he fucked her, until he was left pummelling her twitching body? Perhaps she had a family to feed, that he could set up for the rest of their lives.

The answer, he knew, was one he wouldn’t like. She would say no. So he didn’t bother to bring it up, there was no point in riling himself up a discussion that could be easily avoided. Gaster felt as if this wasn’t an appropriate thing to bring up for a first transaction. Screaming, then, would have to suffice.

She howled like she was being maimed, as instructed, and Gaster took a shine to her. He almost wished that he cared enough to learn her name, he mused, skewering her painfully on his cock as he tore at her back with the hard tips of his fingers, grunting and panting like a dog chewing on a slab of meat. She cried out, in earnest, and it broke the illusion.

“A--ah--”

“Do not speak,” he hissed.

She stilled at once, thinking of her payment. He grew faster, the line between his dreams and his reality blurring as everything fell away to pleasure; tearing and rending.

“The only thing stopping me from killing you,” Gaster murmured in her ear, excruciatingly, blissfully close, his breath scalding like hot water, violently gouging her with his cock, “is the fact that I would be caught. Bear this in mind. Let it _hang there_.” His breaths stuttered and stopped, until his words were no longer legible, nothing but sharp consonants, like knife points to gut her with. He used his cock like a fish-hook, angling it up and hoping to drag out her organs. The thought spurred him on.

And God, her fear. He did that. There were no other influences. For a moment, he forgot his imprisonment, both in the Underground, and in simply being him, and exerted his will in the purest form. She was terrified because he demanded it.

He drove himself into her again, and felt something split, warm and wet and seeping. She shrieked, and he writhed under her, bouncing her with his hands.

He came, creaking and rigid, while she sat tight around him. He focused on every pump of his cock as he spewed his load, and he enjoyed the vacuous silence of his mind for once, as he moved without thinking, until he was left cold, and gasping against the warmth of her body.

She motioned to stand at once and hurry to his bathroom, feeling his cum slip in her, but he beckoned for her to stay, on top of him.

“I--I have-- other--”

“How much?”

He spoke, lowly, and quietly, now close enough to speak, not needing to sign. Within her space. Within her.

“To stay for the night. How much? I am spent, I won’t fuck you again.”

She looked at him with, to his unease, a glimmer of pity, hidden behind moist eyes.

“I have to go,” she insisted, though Gaster assumed it was a lie. He didn’t protest any more.

She scraped herself off of him, fixed the scraps of her tattered apron as best as she could, and hobbled out with enough to tide her over comfortably for seven months, in a small burlap pouch. Gaster didn’t know how much it was. He had stuffed it in and handed it gently to her, kindly.

He made a point never to choose her again, as it wouldn’t be as visceral as the first time. It’s hard to get the same thrill out of ‘killing’ someone twice. Best to keep the fantasy alive. And he knew she would decline, from the way she limped out, one foot sliding after the other, blood smearing his carpet.

 

* * *

 

Time had passed, heaps and heaps of time, and Gaster hired exclusively male ‘company’, now. A short, chitinous fellow, with a cream coloured exoskeleton like sour milk, trapping pink flesh. Gaster didn’t know his name, and he paid him extra to keep it to himself. And, in the right lighting, if you were to squint, he almost fit the bill. Better than the other carcasses he would loan and occupy; husks to fill with eerie flesh.

‘Scream like I am--’

“Like you’re killin’ me, yeah. We all know.”

To almost anyone else, Gaster would have cracked, but the curtness was perfect. This was a habit now, and he was a regular amongst regulars. Hundreds of years of patronage.

A cigarette hung loosely from his mouth, in a violently casual manner. God. He really did look like Sans. A keeper, perhaps.

“What’re you wantin’?”

Gaster stilled, before considering. He allowed himself the luxury of a slightly more intimate set-up, romantic, even. They were talking on his bed, a rarity. Stark, and never occupied.

‘You on top.’

“Bouncin’ on you, or...?”

Fucking him.

‘The other.’

“Cool.”

The room was immaculate. The long, sleek cabinets were matted with dust, before Gaster had seen to them, taking the time to prepare, for once, as if he were hosting the real thing. And Gaster, to his shame, felt his soul quicken at the prospect, and not when presented with something to do for the night.

The escort moved upon him, as he was required to do, pushing Gaster gently onto the bed and undoing his pants with the same expression one makes when they are doing the dishes.

Gaster pawed at his soft cock, torn between averting his gaze and staring rigidly, and compromising on shooting him the odd glance. When he was half-hard, the young man braced himself to Gaster’s entrance, after some fumbling.

“Uh... How used to takin’ it in the ass are you?”

Ahh. The delicate phrasing was appreciated.

Gaster rolled his eyes, indignant, the sheen of his Company’s insolence wearing thin until it was genuinely infuriating.

“I didn’t pay you to speak, whore.”

Gaster heard a mumbled ‘prick’ before he was painfully pierced, back arching. Gaster pulled at the sheets until they tore, revelling in the pain, like fine cuts across his insides, feeling the girth almost split him in two.

The stab gave way to half-hearted thrusts, as ‘Sans’ struggled to find a pace. Grunting, and sweating. Gaster grasped the thick, plated base of his neck, like a beetle’s, and pulled him in for a kiss. ‘Sans’ froze at once.

“You gotta--”

“I’ll pay double.”

And the qualm was laid to read, as ‘Sans’ let his mouth hang open while Gaster slathered the inside of his mouth with his thick, furling tongue, until he was almost fucking his mouth with it, needful, ignoring his partner's discomfort. Gaster let a finger drift under the plate, close to where it connected to thin flesh, as insurance.

‘Sans’ kept his steady, monotonous pace, and Gaster pressed, just a tad, like a toothpick under a nail, to encourage him to open up. He did, though not well. A half hearted cry, a preclusion to pain, rather than the pain itself. Enough to reverberate off of the walls, but not enough to shake them.

“What the fuck are you--”

_“Do better.”_

Panting, and resignation. He let out a screech, far unlike the low voice he spoke with, and that was acceptable. Gaster closed his fluttering eyelids, letting the noise wash over him as he tugged at his bouncing cock.

Another howl, like a dying dog, and the noise finally thrummed in Gaster as it was meant to, resonating and pulsing like a vein. Gaster pushed him backwards violently, until ‘Sans’ was clasped to the bed, surprise, and growing worry in his eyes.

“Oh, y--”

Gaster lowered himself, craning his long, odd body, until he could whisper and have every long, coarse vowel and ringing consonant be heard. Gaster was stock still, still being filled to the brim with his toy’s thick, painful cock.

“ _Beg me to stop_.”

Total shock, and then, to Gaster’s consternation, complete, whole-hearted enthusiasm, which defeated the entire point.

“Fuck yeah!”

Gaster frowned. Inadvertently, they had found a shared interest. But they were busy, and it was more effort to call the occasion off.

Gaster drove himself down, and heard a weak, overwrought, “s-stop!”

It was... Close enough. For the fee he had paid for his company, the service should have excelled. ‘Sans’ scrunched his eyes in faux-fear, and Gaster had seen the real thing enough to know when it was faked. Gaster wanted to snap every piece of chitin off, slice at the connective sinew like he was gutting an unripe pumpkin. It had been a long time since he had been so hard.

Gaster prised at the chitin again, and before his new Sans could react, tugged on it like a stubborn band aid. It cut through his doldrums, every creak making Gaster forget, for a moment, who he was, and what he was stuck as. The things he wished he could do to himself, at three in the morning, with no one to persuade him otherwise

“Stop stop _stop stop stop!_ ”

Those were genuine, and made Gaster hiss, groan and move against him as he continued to pull on the slab.

“ _Stop!_ ”

Gaster did. He was cumming anyway. It sat as normal, without the brutal sting of air hitting the exposed, skinless flesh underneath, though Gaster gripped it for leverage as he drove himself up and down in staccato pulses, before ultimately, slowing to a gasping stop. He heard the words come back, slinking into his awareness.

“ _\-- Batshit! You’re batshit--_ ”

Gaster slid off of him silently, before sitting on the bed, waiting for him to scamper off home with the money, and the luxury of security, if only for a few months. But he heard no such scampering, only the uneven, sodden breaths coming from man on the bed, clutching his neck. Now that Gaster was spent, and the fantasy rendered inert, he... Did not look much like Sans at all, aside from the barest cosmetic factors. Lots of white. God, was tonight going to be a difficult one.

Gaster looked at him, eyebrows raised.

“You aren’t going to leave?”

Sniffling. Like a scolded child in the presence of authority, his easy candour vaporized.

“You... Want me to?”

“I didn’t say that.”

The young man, far in over his head, cursed under his breath, shaky from the adrenaline and his still-burgeoning arousal. Soul palpitating as every part of him said he was making a bad decision. But he needed to eat.

“The money’s too good for me to pass up,” he mumbled, “you paid for twelve hours, whaddya... Want me to do? You wanna go again? Get a friend involved, wha--”

“Sleep.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

He clicked his tongue, and Gaster saw the pity again. Tinged with fear, but it was there.

“Oh... Oh geeze, you’re one’a _those_ guys, huh? N-No problem.”

Gaster was quiet, and bitter.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. I’m, uh... Sorry for calling you batshit.”

“Shut up and stay still.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

The air was as dense as it could be with awkwardness. Gaster lay flat on the bed, facing away, stalk tucked, and his Company quickly clued into his wants.

They spooned. Gaster pressing his face into the bulk of his arm in intimate comfort, planting soft kisses, while his Company forced himself to be entirely still, assailed with intimate motions he hadn’t prepared himself for, going into this job. Kinky, he could handle. Creepy, he could not.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-four.”

Gaster hemmed in thought, and the gesture was enough to ensure that he didn’t hear the same question in response.

 

* * *

 

Sans was half-off a rickety chair, working gently at his cock as he beckoned Gaster forward. It was lust, Gaster knew. Proximity, and time, and common ground, but mostly lust. Gaster had shoved him in here after one flirty joke too many, and at the first sign of potential sex Sans had thrown himself in with glee, unclasping his pants, half-pulling his boxers off. Even when presented with the prospect of being selfishly pleasured with no effort required, Sans could barely muster up the gumption to make that happen.

Slowly, and with great care, Gaster slid himself in, until Sans made a delightful hiccup.

It was not the sort of easy sex that came with familiarity; they were colleges, friends, perhaps, at a tentative push, but it was a bout of wilful, risky stupidity. Sans was his subordinate. He was also under him.

Gaster softly pressed his hands, his ancient, smooth hands, like stone eroded in the wind to a glossy sheen, to Sans’ neck. To feel his bones shift, and click, and tick over. To tease himself, for a moment, allowing himself the luxury. He didn’t squeeze, just allowed himself to focus on the gratuity of the situation, and revel in his fantasy made real, slowly gyrating his hips to hit as much as Sans as possible.

He was rewarded with an unusually high moan.

“y-yeah, choke me.”

Gaster had to dip low, until his barely-there voice could be heard over the creak of the chair, and his own gasps.

“... E-Excuse me?”

“choke the hell outta me,” he beamed, “i’m ready.”

Gaster expected a familiar rage to bubble from the pit of his gut, and yet, there was none. It was nice, when Sans did it. The bluntness. Though the circumstances were too fortuitous to ring true, Sans probably just wanted a gentle squeeze.

“what,” Sans chided, feeling a slight pressure on his neck that didn’t scratch the itch he had quickly developed, “you got arthritis or somethin’? go for it.”

Gaster considered ululating in joy.

_“Scream like you’re about to die.”_

Sans laughed, deeply, hazy with lust and disbelief, taking it to be a dark prank.

“you’re real fucked, man. we’ll get caught--”

Gaster crammed his tongue in his maw, like a vulture digging in to peck at carrion, and that shut him up.

But Gaster had absolute control here, as he deserved, in his workplace. Every single member of staff could hear them fuck, and not be able to do a thing about it. Gaster could swing open the door of the closet and ruin Sans in front of everyone as he forced them to watch the whole thing, every lingering, searing detail. He could part Sans’ legs and fuck him into the squeaky floor, because he wanted to, in excruciating, writhing movements, until Sans’ voice moved from a low, rumbling drawl to a rasping, baleful roar. But Gaster would cum immediately if that were to happen, and so he abstained, for his own sakes. There would be plenty of time for that.

Gaster hooked his free hand under Sans’ pelvis, near the tailbone, and to his delight, found he could lift him easily and support his weight. So dainty! To delight in that fact, Gaster held him there, suspended, in the air, having broken the kiss. Hammering in his cock with the grace of someone bashing at a tent peg.

Gaster gripped his tailbone, harder and harder, until it felt as if his bones would prise apart under the force, crack and splinter, marrow taking the place of viscera until Sans could only gasp and growl at the force, clawing at Gaster’s shoulder.

“ _choke me_.”

Gaster was moaning, next to Sans’ cheek, low, and bubbling, like a brook on a dead day. This was, without question, both the ideal, and worse case, scenario for Gaster.

“ _c’mon_.”

With a thud, Gaster pinned Sans’ neck to the wall, letting his torso dangle freely, allowing him the barest luxury of support on Gaster’s hips as he thrusted, gouged, maimed Sans, having a good, hard, rough fuck for the first time in his life. Not something to be bargained in negotiations, in exchanges and barters, a fuck, rough and vicious in a disused room they could be caught in; violence, with less grace. The unpainted wall scraped at Sans’ back.

Sans, Sans, he took great care to mouth the name and let it writhe on his tongue like a maggot he was following to and fro, balancing it on the flesh.

_Sans._

Sans’ whites rolled up in delight as he felt consciousness trickle to and fro, back and forth, as sublime helplessness took him over. Something dawned on Gaster, in a sudden rush, sharp and pointed, cutting through Sans' cries.

He could kill him.

Gaster was pumping his hips, his thoughts muddled and scrambled, intertwining and writhing like leeches overtaking a dying animal in the water.

“y’r-- aah--! y’r real _kinky_ ,” Sans slurred, barely audible, moments away from the best orgasm of his life.

Gaster imagined himself pushing so hard he snapped Sans in half like kindling, and he was so close, everything was dying away until there was nothing but primal movement, loud, scratchy huffs that scraped their way out of his open, drooling maw, and _Sans._

With a dark, uninhibited glee; freed from thoughts, freed from worry, freed from anything, from everything, Gaster was invincible, he was fucking and taking what he wanted and he was without flaw, Sans was doing this willingly, Gaster could do anything to him, anything, _Gaster could--_

Gaster twisted his hands, and pulsed his hips as he came, howling as if impaled, the awareness fluttering out of Sans’ weak, frail, stupidly trusting eyes. Playing at things he barely understood, skirting at the very edges of a precipice he didn’t know of. The ultimate subjugation. Absolute, uncompromising control. More than trust, which can be earned, and squandered, and broken. An absolute.

Life and death. Of which there is no in between. And Gaster could finally know what it was like to flip the switch, his mind gone, absent, only driven by what made him feel good, that’s what the sex was _for_ , throwing off the shackles of company and what they would expect of you for a sweet, blissful moment, he was _still cumming--_

Gaster pumped and pumped and pumped into his loose body, everything gone, he was cumming, he had never felt so good in his life, everything was leading to this, he could barely move, he could fuck and fuck and fuck until Sans gave entirely, and there was nothing of him left but fine powder--

He could _snap his neck._

It was Sans of course, so he didn’t. But he could have. And he kept that thought in mind as he let his grip slip, allowing awareness to slip into Sans warmly, like a bitter drink, until Sans came as well, hard and messy and totally unaware of the accidental pressure he had exerted. He slowed, and finally, tortuously, he stopped, making a point to catalogue every breath in his mind. 

“Are you alright?”

“-- s’ -- s’ _good_ \-- god-- it’s like you were tryna kill me--”

Gaster declined to mention that he, in fact, was considering it deeply. Precious, delicate Sans; a bone china doll that might snap if pushed. How titillating.

“You aren’t hurt?”

A deep, rasping chuckle, of supreme satisfaction, which Gaster took great delight in.

“nah, nah i’m fine. whew! you really went for gold, huh? shit, you probably broke my legs.”

Gaster set him down, one foot, then the other, and Sans quaked when he stood, another fact to take revel in. Gaster, too, was exhausted; spent, and leaning on his compact company. Warm, and intimate, and filling the void in him, even if only for a moment.

Sans broke the embrace immediately, but not without a firm, lustful smack to the ass.

“i gotta get--”

“ _Don’t leave me_.”

Sans looked back, something icy having gripped his chest, hearing a tone he had never heard before.

“I mean, I am tired as well,” Gaster stated cooly, though failing to hide the shake in his voice, slipping his arms back around. ‘We may as well rest. I am certainly not going to terminate our contracts, you can relax.”

Sans blinked, before finding himself.

“what did you mean by--”

Gaster had entombed him in an embrace, tight enough that he couldn’t protest. It was warm. Sans smelled nice, Gaster mused, shoulders shaking as Sans stroked at his back. Sweat, and an excruciatingly cheap deodorant.

Sans felt distinctly uncomfortable.

Assailed with intimate motions he hadn’t prepared himself for.

 

**Author's Note:**

> marvel as gaster fucks his way across a cast of memorable characters! eighteenth century prostitute! bug-guy prostitute! sans the skeleton! coming to theatres near you!
> 
> i snuck in some little references to other fics! you might be able to pick them up ^^


End file.
